Madness Behind the Words
by darksupernatural
Summary: There's a reason some song lyrics hit harder than others, that's the madness behind the words. Not song fics, but each chapter will be inspired by music that makes up my daily life. Complete!
1. Venom and Rope

**A/N: Inspired by Shinedown's _Sin With a Grin_. This is not a song fic, but you may recognize lines from the song and some…background noise if you listen close. Hope you like. I wanted to get this posted before Friday since work is about to get completely insane right before I take vacation. This one goes to Skag Trendy. Happy birthday sweetie!(in two days). Sorry I'm not gonna be around, but I hope you like your little pressie! I'm setting this up like Moments in Time and Winchester Single Shots(check them out if you get time!) and there will be more chapters with different inspirations when the music and the muse collide again.**

**Chapter 1: Venom and Rope.**

Sam lifted his head from where his chin rested on his chest. He felt the bite of rope as he tried to move his hands. Sam blinked rapidly, belatedly wondering why his vision was tinged red in his right eye. He felt blood, warm and sticky, slide slowly down his jaw.

Sam blinked the red haze away, annoyed at the itch the drying blood left behind and his head swiveled, until he laid eyes on…

"Dean!" Dean was slumped in a matching position, leaning against another large rock, head down, hands tied. Blood was meandering slowly through his stubble and dripping off his chin. "Dean."

"Look who's awake." A gravelly voice said from behind Sam. Sam gasped as he felt the heavy weight of a coil of rope settle against the top of his shoulders around his neck. It was given a savage yank which pulled Sam's head back against the boulder. He gasped as the rope was pulled tight and cut off his air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean's head shift slightly before stilling. Voices began droning around him, little more than whispers. Sam's wrists left bound, his feet cut free, and the rope was pulled again, forcing Sam to use his numb hands to leverage himself up from the leaf strewn ground. He felt another tug on the rope, and choked as it burned the skin of his neck and again made his breathing stutter.

"What are you doing?" Sam ground out, hoping that Dean would wake, hearing Sam's cries.

The whispers in the background changed to a chant, a two syllable sound like "ahyah" repeated over and over in both masculine and feminine voices. Shadows swarmed in the trees around the clearing and Sam felt the sound would make him insane. He got no answers from whoever was controlling the rope around his neck, but it did slacken slightly and Sam pulled in a breath that turned quickly into a sickening feeling as he realized that the rope laid against his back in the shape of a long cylinder. _A noose, it's a freakin' noose. Oh god, Dean, please wake up! _Sam flew into a rage, his bound hands and arms trying to deck whoever was controlling the rope. His body snapped around, his eyes frantically trying to see the shadows in the woods, the source of the maddening chant. The rope tightened painfully and a heavy booted foot slammed into the backs of Sam's knees, driving him forward. The rope choked him unmercifully, his vision swimming and turning black at the edges, as he caught himself on his hands and knees. The chant doubled in it's intensity, and the gravelly voice sounded out again. "Take a good look at agony." And the rope pulled painfully tight, jerking Sam back to his feet, his legs throbbing where the boot had connected. Sam gagged and tried once again to resist. The figure he hadn't seen yet, the one behind him, snarled and rounded on Sam.

Sam gasped as he took in a figure in a red robe, the hood completely shrouding his face and making his body shapeless. "Time to hang." The figure said, wrapping the end of the rope around a hand ringed with black tape.

"_Ahyah…ahyah…ahyah…ahyah…ahyah…."_

"No! Why are you doing this?!" Sam gasped out against the pressure at his throat. "Who are you?"

"Oh Sammy, thought you'd know me by now. Look inside Sam. Ya see, I'm inside, with two black eyes."

"Meg." Sam snarled, looking again towards his brother as Dean's head moved. "DEAN!"

"You're whining Sam." Meg snarled, the host's gravelly voice dancing with mirth. "Ya see, I'm out for a little fun Sammy. I'm a demon. I know how to sin with a grin." Meg said with a singsong voice.

"Time for a little fun!" She snarled and pulled viciously on the rope, dragging Sam over beneath a large bare branched oak tree. The chanting grew to ear bleeding levels, the tones changing, growing louder, deeper. Frenzied. Another robed figure emerged from the forest around them, his voice leading the chant.

"_Ahyah. Ahyah. Ahyah."_

"Step up Sam." Meg said as she whipped the looped end of the rope up over a large branch of the tree and caught it effortlessly. She yanked on the rope, forcing Sam to stretch to his toes to keep from suffocating. She tugged the rope and forced Sam to look up into the top of the trees as the rope cut into the sensitive skin just beneath his chin. "Come on Sam….up, up, up." Meg sing-songed again. She pulled on the rope and Sam staggered up on to a small pillar of stacked rocks. The pillar shifted under his weight and Sam forced himself to steady, or risk falling off and breaking his neck. Meg tied the rope off to another stout tree limb.

Dean finally groaned and shifted on the ground, raising his head. His bloodshot eyes cleared and he writhed in his bound position as they lit on Sam, standing on the shifting pile of rock with the noose stretched tight. The drone of the chanting broke through the haze that surrounded Dean's mind and he looked worriedly at the surrounding woods, seeing the shadows shift.

"SAM!" Dean cried.

"Dean!" Sam gasped. "'S Meg."

Dean focused on the red shrouded figure before him, the one who crouched down and lowered the hood to reveal a clean shaven black man with a malicious grin on his face.

"You bitch!" Dean ground out, "let 'im go!"

"Aw, such the spoil sport after your little trip downstairs huh?" Meg cocked her host's head to the side as a big hand reached out to clasp Dean's jaw line in a tight grip. Fingers played over still sluggishly dripping blood. "C'mon _Dean._ Don't tell me you don't think Sam can handle the little test? Nothing like the hangman standing on a twisted 2X4." Meg moved to Sam's side again and poked him in the thigh with a finger. Sam's sneakers rolled on the surface of the rock as it shifted and he gave a strangled sound before putting his still bound hands out to balance himself.

"Time for a little fun! Whaddya say Sammy?" Meg snapped her host's meaty fingers and two robed figures came out of the woods as the chanting continued in the background, rising to another pitch.

"_AHYAH,AHYAH,AHYAH, AHYAH, AHYAH!"_

The two figures walked up to each brother, their hands clasped together beneath their robes, the red fabric rustling as if they were twiddling their thumbs. They looked at their targets, eyes shining with mirth beneath the shadow of the big hoods. Human eyes. Each one pulled their hands apart and out of the big sleeves of the robes, showing the snakes clasped gently in their hands. Sam gasped, seeing the man hold up the snake with the red and black rings on it's rust colored skin. The red rings were surrounded by yellow.

The man began to whisper, Sam blocking his fear of the snake to catch the words. "Thank you for the venom, did you think it would paralyze?" Sam shot his eyes to Dean, seeing the man looming over him, holding another snake high. The snake held over Dean's form writhed, catching the moonlight. Sam saw it's similar rings, noticing that the red was surrounded by black instead of yellow. Sam flinched as the snake was settled just above the noose and coiled around his neck to compliment the rope biting into his flesh. He felt the cool flesh of the snake and fought against the urge to break down and scream. The snake's head lifted as it slithered contentedly around the rope, bouncing gently off Sam's lifted chin.

Sam's eyes shifted to see the man drape the other snake around Dean's neck. Meg walked back over and leaned down, petting the head of the snake with a finger. "It's funny, Just get lucky enough to pick the right snake and people think you're a God." she nodded at the cloaked figures still lurking and they came closer, the chant building in the night to a roar. Dean's eyes met Sam's and shifted to the snake, seeing the same thing Sam did. One was deadly, the other harmless.

"Sammy." Dean said, his voice nearly drowned out by the chant.

"_**AHYAHAHYAHAHYAHAHYAHAYHAH!!"**_

She nodded her host's head in the direction of Sam and tisked beneath her breath. "Pick the wrong one and …ouch. Oh well, ya win some ya lose some." she stood from her crouch and walked over to Sam. "Oh Sammy. It's been such fun playing with you…ya made my night." She raised her host's arms above his head and joined in on the chant, before bending down and pulling a small rock about the size of a baseball out of the side of the pile that Sam stood on. The rocks shifted and Sam's footing became even more precarious, his body swaying as the rope tightened and his breath turned into a ragged wheeze. The snake hissed angrily at the intrusion, tongue flicking against Sam's racing pulse as the snake writhed against the rope.

"_**AHYAHAHYAHAHYAHAHYAHYAH…"**_

The chanting fell to a hushed silence as they waited for Sam to fall. Dean's eyes met Sam's and he saw the same thing he felt, resignation, fear for his brother. Meg walked back to Dean and pulled a dagger from the folds of her robe. She turned the blade to face Dean and plunged it into his upper shoulder, severing the head from the snake in the process.

"Gahhh!"

Her host's eyes flickered black, and a gasp went through the cloaked figures. She snarled and turned to them, growling before she pulled the host's head back and left him choking on a cloud of black smoke. It shifted through the trees and disappeared into the night. Two puncture marks appeared on his left wrist and black lines quickly trailed upwards, as the man gasped and choked, the flesh of his arm turning black. He fell to the side, eyes open and staring just past Dean. The cloaked figures scattered and disappeared into the night, some screaming, some ranting in foreign languages.

"Dean!" Sam cried, forgetting about the shifting rocks, the snake still wound around his neck, still alive and deadly.

Dean reached his bound hands to his shoulder, panting heavily and pulled the dagger from the wound with a wet, sucking sound and a cry of pain. He flipped it in his hands and used the bloody blade to cut the ropes, standing after he cut the bindings on his ankles. He wavered on his feet, going to a knee against the boulder, his numb hands barely stopping a face to stone plant. The body of the snake fell limp to the ground.

"Sammy. Don't move. 'M gonna get you outta this."

"Dean," Sam whispered with a trembling voice. "help me."

"Okay. I'm here now. Gonna get that thing off you." Dean said, swallowing hard as he looked at the snake who had wrapped itself tightly around Sam's neck and the rope.

"Dean, it's the poisonous one." Sam whispered, swallowing terror as a rhyme flitted through his mind-_ Red on yellow...-_ flinching at the snake's disturbed hiss. The rocks shifted beneath Sam's feet, grinding off one another. The snake pulled back, mouth open. A flick of Dean's wrist had him slicing deep into the neck of the snake with the dagger, sending head and body to the ground in two separate places. Sam's feet shifted on the rocks and his weight came down against the rope and Dean, rocks scattering beneath their feet. He began gagging, slowly strangling.

"SAM!" Dean cried, trying to catch Sam's weight and get it off the rope. "SAMMY!" Sam's eyelids fluttered, only the whites showing now as his face turned a mottled shade of red-purple. Dean lifted up on Sam, wrapping an arm around his middle and reaching for the noose with the dagger. He slowly-_ too damn slow!-_ managed to saw through the rope and sent him and Sam to the ground, jarring his painful shoulder as they landed on the rocks Sam had been standing on. Dean blinked away the black spots crowding his vision and rolled Sam onto his back. Sam's lips were parted, blue. His chest wasn't rising and falling and he was no longer wheezing.

"Sam, don't you do this!" Dean reached for the rope biting harshly into Sam's neck and pried enough room beneath it for two fingers. His nails scratched Sam's neck and made the rope slick with blood. Dean pulled at the rope, praying for it to loosen. Finally the knot gave a little and the rope slackened. Dean lifted Sam and worked the hideous device over his head, tossing it away. "C'mon kid, breathe!" Dean said as he opened Sam's tortured airway, his fingers touching swollen rope burns. Sam sucked in a shallow, wheezing breath, and released it on a harsh cough before pulling in air in ragged pants.

Dean eased his body behind Sam and lifted him, relief streaking through him when Sam's breathing eased just a bit. " I gotcha, I gotcha." Dean panted with Sam, feeling his shoulder flare intensely.

"De-" Sam started, the word dissolving into another coughing fit, eyelids fluttering before finally opening.

"Shh. 'M here."

"Hur's."

"I know. Jus' sit tight." Dean said, tightening his arms around his little brother in relief.

"BOYS!" a voice rang out in the night.

"Over here Bobby!" Dean called slightly breathlessly. He sagged when he saw the older hunter's form emerge from the trees.

"Aw, shit! We get separated for an hour and here ya both are, beat to hell." the older hunter scolded, even as worry flooded his features. He quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuck it between Dean's black jacket and his green over shirt.

"We'll be alright. Let's just get the hell outta here." Dean stood on shaky legs and reached for Sam, Bobby following suit and looping Sam's other arm over his shoulder. They began a slow trek out of the woods and toward the Impala.

"What the hell happened Dean? I mean, I hear this ruckus and then there's this bunch o' nut jobs runnin' through the trees screamin' bloody hell."

"It was Meg. Bitch was playing with us…again."

"Got away." Sam rasped from his position between them, struggling to hold his head up and keep his feet moving.

"Don't worry. We'll find that bitch again." Dean said, "Then I'm gonna make her see what happens to a snake charmer when they ain't quite so lucky."

**A/N: Like I said, this was for Skag Trendy's birthday. There's a reason for that. Check out her Hunter of the Shadows. It was a birthday present for me and is a completely addicting read. Gonna finish talking her into letting me play with the boys how she has them now. Look for Hunter of the Twilight as my next full length fic, and part of the Shades of Night 'verse although it may be a while. Please review!**


	2. 4:03

**Title is taken from lyrics from a Shinedown song. Gill, this one is for you. I've started working my way back and through everything and I have you to thank for that. Here's a little Sammy angst for you. Talk to you soon.  
**

**Summary: Sam put the shovel down at 4:03. It haunts him for months.**

**4:03**

Tears blur his vision as he watches dirt trickle down on a crude pine box. He makes no sound, acknowledges nothing but the hollow thunk of dirt and the cracking of his heart. The last shovel full does nothing to fill the void that's swallowing him whole. He hits his knees, catching himself on his hands as his eyes clear for a moment, his watch coming into focus. 4:03 burns into his mind like acid.

For days he doesn't fall gently asleep, choosing instead to tip bottle after bottle to his lips until he crashes into oblivion. Nights of dreams so black that it's impossible to see, smothering, impossible to pull in a breath. He wakes, sweating, hurting and calling a name, begging for an answer. Red numbers on the clock read 4:03.

Days are hollow, meaningless. It's the nights that bring the knives. The black, tinged now with bloody lightening, roiling with pain, the air scented of copper and iron, tequila and death. His ears ring with screams and the crack of bone and the lash. The blade of a knife flashes in the night and he wakes feeling torn and bloody, broken and burned. Red numbers on the clock read 4:03.

He's found a way, not living, just survival. Changed. He takes on anything that he can find. Merciless, thoughtless. Ruthless. No shades of gray. Only black. Even in the sunshine, all he sees is black. Slinking through the latest door, stumbling and torn. Blood loss and hopelessness send him to the black. He wakes now without a sound, without a breath and doesn't have to open his eyes to see the numbers on the clock read 4:03.

Black smoke leads and he follows. Town to town, city to city, through alley and dirt. He follows. Forms lunge from the darkness and he sends them away. Power flows through him, at his beck and call. No longer seeing black, all he sees is red. Sleep comes to him now and no dreams dare to haunt him. But still he wakes at 4:03.

Something's changed now. It's different for him. Neon lights shine through the window, and the rustle of flesh against fabric, and a whispered breath come from his left. Sleep is peaceful. No color, no lightening or knives. No tearing or bleeding. His eyes open and fall on a figure in the dark. Green eyes meet his, open to half mast but shining with worry.

"It's 4:03. Go back to sleep."

And finally, finally he does.

**Sorry it's so short but I hope you liked it anyway! Please review?**


	3. Pain

_Based loosely around some imagery from Evanescence's _Going Under _and Shinedown's song_, If You Only Knew _and the line _"The only thing that I still believe in is you."_ The brothers need each other, no matter what happens. To be there for each other, to save each other's asses, to be family. Hope you all enjoy. __**Happy Early Birthday Sammygirl1963**__. Love ya Jean! Enjoy the Winchester angst. Just sorry it wasn't something better. This beats around both brothers. You have to decide which one is which.  
_

**Pain.**

My vision tunnels, edges turning gray as pain becomes my only feeling. My skin, bones, joints, _hell, even my hair,_ everything hurts, burns. Is cold, is turning to ash. Dust. Nothing.

I lay there, numb, and yet a burning ball of pain all at the same time. My ears ring and yet I hear nothing but my shallow breathing. My nerves reverberate and yet I feel nothing but agony. My skin sweats from the fires of suffering yet I feel nothing but cold. My stomach clenches and my throat closes off, leaving me gasping yet unable to breathe.

My body begins to tremble, yet I know I'm not moving. Lightening arcs across my vision and yet I don't see it. I struggle to keep my eyes open but I already know they're closed.

I shudder, pulling in a ragged breath that reignites the fire inside me. Anguish tortures me, holding me captive, unable to scream, unable to find freedom in unconsciousness. Bliss in death eludes me, torment holding me prisoner in a body thrumming with pain.

"Hey, hey." I feel him put a hand on my thigh, his calloused fingers clenching hard, yet soothing with his touch. "'M here. It's okay, you're gonna be okay." He picks me up, gently as torment threatens to turn me to dust.

"Mmhhmm." I moan, fighting to keep my lips closed because I know if I start screaming I'll never stop.

I feel him ease behind me, supporting me, my head tipping back easy to rest against his collar bone. His warm fingers come up to support my chin, covertly feeling my pulse pounding beneath my flesh. "Shh, just breathe. Keep breathin'." I feel his fingers working, holding me up, grounding me, keeping the dust of my pain riddled body from blowing away. My heart stammers in my chest, breath stuttering, until finally, my pain turns to twinges, from blazing to smoldering to just an unpleasant warmth.

"Just breathe. You're winded, jus' take it easy an' breathe."

"Hit…the….headstone……hard…."

"I know. Damn spirit threw ya before I toasted the bastard."

-----

"Guh." I curl in on myself, choking, as agony blazes a trail through my nerves. Pain lights me up, blindsiding me, shaking me. I struggle to breathe, agony coursing up my back. My hands scrabble around, searching for purchase, something to hold on to, to keep me conscious. I finally reach out and grasp the shotgun, pulling the heavy weight of the sawed off towards me, clinging to it like a lifeline. I pull a knee up, pain lancing through my ribs, searing my struggling lungs. I feel the cold of the iron seeping into my flesh where my shirts rode up. The frigid metal burns my skin with cold as I fail to find the strength to pull away from it. My leg falls out from under me, sliding down the frosty grass to rest awkwardly beside my other one. The shotgun slides from my anguish numbed fingers and clatters to the November ground.

I feel darkness creeping in, gray lurking at the edges of my vision like the mist skulking at the base of the headstones. Pain thrums through me, striking the cords of my nerves like a blow. I lose my grasp, the fragile hold I have on control. I slide sideways, unable to stop myself. I gasp as my nerves are tortured by the impact and my breath whooshes out of my lungs.

I groan, trying and failing to pull away from the torturer behind me, sagging into it's clutches when my strength leaves me.

I feel the pain lessen when a warm hand curls around the back of my neck. He lifts gently, pulling me towards him, away from the cold agony at my back. I rest my head against his warm shoulder, managing finally to pull in a breath as the pain recedes to a dull roar. "Easy. Jus' breathe. I gotcha." He pulls my shirts up, looking at the blossoming colors across my back. I don't have to see them to know they're various shades from yellow to _bluegreenblackpurple_, and darkening with each moment. He pulls my shirts down and the chills that have assaulted me lessen slightly.

"Ah, damn. Gate got ya good."

"Ya get…the bitch?"

I felt him nod against my head. "Up in smoke."

-----

The muscles in my back clench, the burn of being mishandled streaking through me like lightening. Burning, tearing, searing. Ripping through me and leaving me broken and charred. My shoulders lock as my legs refuse to hold me on my toes anymore. My knees give out, and my shoulders lock, stretched to their rending point, joints barely hanging together as my weight, the weight I'm used to bearing with stealth and confidence, drags my too weak body down. Blood courses in tiny rivulets down my upraised arms. My nerves shriek at me, slowly dying from the endings inward. My chilled skin becomes finally, blissfully, numb until I'm only one indiscernible ache. I have no one pain worse than another. I simply _am _pain.

It's dark, and getting darker as consciousness threatens to desert me. I focus on breathing, and nothing else, trying to turn the halting, ragged breaths into the steady, life sustaining rhythm I need. My arms are pulled viciously by my weight as my legs refuse to hold me any longer and I bite through my tongue to keep from screaming endlessly as I feel the double pop. I choke on the blood that pools in my mouth, my head drooping forward as I try not to give into the encroaching darkness. My abs and ribs, my chest are fighting to continue to expand, fighting against the pressure from my position. I feel like I'm suffocating as spots dance in front of my eyes. My chin touches my chest and still I try, try to gain my feet once more. My legs won't cooperate and I dangle, feet scrabbling weakly, from my bleeding arms. My breath rasps in my throat and I know it's my last.

Warmth against my cold numbed cheek makes my eyes open. I feel that warmth lifting my chin, letting me get the breath that I desperately need. The hands leave my face and trail up my bloodied arms, gently cutting through the rope that had me held captive. He lowers me, gently easing my shoulders down as he works the abused muscles, soothing them back into quiet peace, and fading twinges.

"I gotcha." He murmurs softly at my bitten off cry of _painrelieffatigue._

"W-wen'igo?" I stammer through chattering teeth as he wraps his coat around my shoulders over my tattered shirts.

"History."

-------

My eyes open and all I see is all encompassing blackness. I'm laying on my back, coarse wood splinters snagging my shirt. I roll my head slightly, blinking to try and clear my eyes, hissing in pain when the wood comes into contact with the bump on the side of my head. I reach a hand up to examine the knot and my elbow smacks off another wooden surface to my right. I stop, breath catching, until I reach my right hand out and graze my knuckles off the wood, my skin picking up on the outline of boards. There's no space between them, they form a solid wall. My heart begins to hammer in my chest-_oh god._ I pull my hand away from the wall and lift my left, forgetting to check that direction, even as I realize it's useless to anyway. It's too dark for me to be anywhere else but a box of some kind. My heart skips a beat as my breath rushes out of my lungs. I put both hands up to my blind eyes, palms grinding in. I'm finally seeing light, bright colors as my hands try to push my eyes deeper into my head. I take a breath and force myself to calm, knowing my air supply is limited and only getting worse.

Already the air around me-_it's dark-_ is becoming stale and sweat is beading on my brow.

Small. I reach up above me and my hands scrape off the top wall of my prison, splinters digging into my palms, my arms not even outstretched. I straighten- _try to_- my legs and realize that I can't even do that. The halos of light that the pressure of my hands had created fade back into blackness as I blink rapidly. The dark once again surrounds me, the black getting blacker at the ends of my confines.

I hear the hitch in my breathing steadily becoming worse, a growing wheeze the only audible sound as the air becomes thinner, more stale, harder to come by. My head begins to swim, dizziness swamping me, sweeping me away. My head turns sluggishly to the side, and I squeeze my eyes shut, and my mouth, trying to work some moisture-_and composure_- up. I turn back to the top of the box and tears drip from the corner of my eyes, sliding across my temples into my hair as my breath stutters.

A sound reaches my ears over the last of my troubled breaths. The thunk of metal to wood. The splinter of the latter and the grating of nails as they're forcibly extracted from their homes. Cold air wafts over me and warm hands reach in, pulling me up and out. I gasp, my head tucked tight against a pounding heart. I wheeze and cough, pulling in air, escaping the darkness- _death._

I feel his hands push me back, give me air, steady me.

"Ya alright?" I huff and nod, working moisture into my dry mouth. I try and fail to answer, just nodding as he pulls me tight again.

------

Cold liquid closes over my head, slithers down my throat, in my nose, my ears. It pulls at me, taking me down, freezing me. The water fills me, shutting me off. I feel it in my clothes, in my boots, my mouth, my pores. My ears are filled with the strange, muffled sound like I'm lying down in a bathtub. I can hear the waves, my heartbeat straining, my lungs burning. I can see the dark murkiness of the water surrounding me, enveloping, hugging me tighter than any mother hugs her child. It works between my fingers as I struggle. It pulls at me, pulls me down, dragging me deeper. My lungs burn, tissues and cells struggling to get air as the water takes over.

My eyes sting, seeing the water distorted imagery as my last picture before they slip closed.

My body halts it's descent into the deep as hands grip me beneath my arms. The waves break over my head and then I'm vaguely feeling coarse ground and rocks poking through my wet clothes. Water pools around me as it drains from my boots and my mouth. It gives a faint popping sound as it drains from my ears.

"…ey!"

My mouth opens and closes as I gulp, trying to breathe. I feel myself being rolled onto my side as I choke. My head gets propped up and I can breathe again.

"'S okay. Take it easy."

"Mnn."

"You okay?"

I cough and grate out a waterlogged, "yeah."

"Good."

"Sammy?" I manage.

"Yeah?"

"Been one helluva week." I say between chattering teeth as the cool night breeze brushes over and through me.

"Yeah." He says, settling in behind me to prop me up. I relax and just breathe.

**Well, there it is. Happy Birthday Sammygirl! Hope you like it.**


	4. Wouldn't It Be Good

**A/N: So Blue Peanut gave me these lyrics and the imagery just came together pretty quickly. I had the lines picked out before season 5's premiere, so bear with me. This is a song fic, fitting in nicely with the rest of Madness Behind the Words. Song is by Nik Kershaw. I know some of the dialog is not verbatim, it's called artistic license. Enjoy and please review. Don't own the boys, what they say, or the song, but it is on my play list! Thanks Gill. Oh, and this is set before the s5 premiere.  
**

**Wouldn't It Be Good**

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now Dean, go!" I grabbed him and ran, holdin' him tight. Knew then I was responsible for him for the rest of my life. The night my life changed forever. Seems so dam long ago. 'Nother lifetime. Hell, 'nother person. I changed then. No more time as a four year old, leanin' my head against my mommy's shoulder as she read about three bears. I grew up with my brother's head against my shoulder. I did the reading.

_I got it bad_

_You don't know how bad I got it._

_You got it easy_

_You don't know when you've got it good._

I watch him sittin' on the table, tears makin' his eyes shine. I hold the pistols in my hands, knowing his and mine from the weight. Don't even have to look at them. Have to think though, which one would I put in my mouth if I lose him. So instead of biting a bullet, I bite my tongue to keep from screaming and I decide to speak.

"I'm tired Sam. I'm tired of this job. This life. This weight on my shoulders, man, I'm tired of it."

_It's getting harder_

_Just keeping life and soul together_

The pistol cracked and the thing dived out the window and into the night. I watched dad rush to the bed and pull Sammy close. His chin rested on Sammy's curly hair and his eyes bored into mine.

"What happened?" He demanded.

"I-I'm sorry. I just went out. Just for a minute."

"I told ya not to leave this room. I told ya to watch after Sammy."

"I'm sorry." Not good enough if he had died.

_I'm sick of fighting even though I know I should._

_The cold is biting through each and every nerve and fiber._

I learned to shoot before I learned to write. Learned that keepin' Sammy safe was more important than me pullin' in my next breath. Learned that my baby brother meant everything to me.

"Hey, uh…Dean, you, um, you saved my life back there."

"Killin' that guy, killin' Meg- I didn't hesitate, I didn't even flinch. For you or dad, the things I'm willin' to do or kill, it just…it scares me sometimes."

He looks at me, and he's got the same look on his face that he did when he was a kid. It's Sammy. Those break my heart puppy dog eyes that he's so damn good at pulling off.

"You're my big brother. I've looked up to you since I was five years old. Wanted to be just like you."

_My broken spirit is frozen to the core_

_I don't want to be here no more_

The crackle of the flames, the roar of the fire, the heat that scorches us, fuels tempers and adrenaline, and I keep him back.

"He's still in there!"

"Sam, It's suicide!"

"I don't care!"

"I DO!"

"I gotta find that kid. If somethin' bad happens to him…"

I watch him cry out, sink to his knees. I hit mine just as he falls forward, catch him, prop him up. I messed up. Sorry. God I'm fuckin' sorry.

"Hey, It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Gonna patch you up, make ya good as new." I pulled him outta the South Dakota mud.

Dad looks at me, saying the words I heard every day of my life, the words so ingrained in me I hear them before he says them, every time I look at my brother.

"Look after Sammy, Dean."

"Yeah, Dad, you know I will."

I couldn't. I'm sorry.

I picked him up and carried him out, shoulders back and straight even though I knew I failed. One job and I messed it up. Couldn't do it. One job and I failed. I knew I was done fighting if I lost him. I took him outta there as fast as I could, got him safe. Kept him in my arms till I laid him flat on that bed. I looked down. I ran away. When I got back, I saw him standing there, footprints in the dust.

"He's m'baby brother. I couldn't let him die."

_Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes even if it was for just one day?_

_And wouldn't it be good if we could wish ourselves away?_

"You were right, you gotta have your own life."

"Are you serious?"

"You've always known what you want and you go after it. You stand up to Dad and you always have. Hell I wish I- anyway, I admire that about you. I'm proud of you Sammy."

_The grass is always greener over there_

_Wouldn't it be good if we could live without a care?_

"He said that he…he wanted me to watch out for you. Take care of you."

"He told you that a million times."

"No, this time was different. He said that I had to…save you. And if I couldn't I'd…I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you Sammy."

The clock ticks away and I look at him, I see him, tears in his eyes. "Remember what Dad taught ya. Remember what I taught ya." The clock strikes midnight and we run. Side by side. Doesn't work. I hear him screamin' even over mine, until pain blocks it out, before I finally tell my dad "I looked out for Sammy. Did everything I could.

I wake up, not knowing what happened. Have to remember how to breathe when there's no air. Claw my way out and walk back to someone I know. I see my brother again.

Y'know, it's funny. You can act like you don't care. Don't give a rat's ass 'bout anything, and yet, when you look three feet to your right…

"Or your left."

…your whole world looks back atcha. And ya still have the weight on your shoulders. But you don't mind it.

_You must be joking_

_You don't know a thing about it. _

_You've got no problems_

_I'd stay right there if I was you._

_I got it harder_

_You couldn't dream how hard I got it._

I look at him, the fire at his back making my watering eyes sting more.

"I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about."

He puts his hand on my knee and squeezes.

_Stay out of my shoes if you know what's good for you_

_The heat is stifling_

_Burning me up from the inside._

"I hate to say it, she's a sweet girl, but part of her is-"

"Evil?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that's what they say about me, Dean."

_The sweat is coming though each and every pore._

_I don't want to be here no more. I don't' want to be here no more. _

He stares at me, his eyes glinting. I return the look, blue green and cold. I feel the rage when he speaks.

"Well, I dunno when it happened. Maybe when I was in Hell, maybe when I was starin' right at you. But the Sam I knew, he's gone."

"That so?"

"And it's not the demon blood, or the psychic crap…it's the little things. The secrets and lies."

_I don't want to be here no more._

_Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes even if it was for just one day?_

"You were always Dad's perfect little soldier. I wanted to play soccer instead of practicing archery!"

_I got it bad. You don't know how bad I got it…_

I look at my brother, seeing fear, and forgiveness even before I speak. "I'm sorry." He grips my jacket, pulling me close. Part of me knows he'll never forget though.

"We gotta go. Now!"

"Lucifer. He's coming."


	5. Forty Years

**A/N: I know it's been done, Dean's thoughts about his time in hell. But hopefully this is a different form and a little bit of a different take. It's just something that came to me at work, oh the places your thoughts roam when you're extremely bored, and feeling just a bit dark. It can be read as a poem or a song. If anyone has any idea of music that this would fit, let me know! Anyhow, enjoy.**

Forty Years

I'm locked in Hell inside my head

Seems to me, skin crawling with dread.

Black skies and growling dogs

Tearing at my feet, sinking in a bog.

Pulling me down, into the pit

Chained to the rack, body taking the hit.

Stretched to breaking, tears streaming from my eyes

He leans over, holds my heart like a prize.

Laughter echoes in the dark

Pulsing black, nothing else so stark.

Blood flows from my very pores

As he laughs and rends me to my core.

At the end of each day he asks

And every day I struggle to hang onto my mask.

The things he does, too vast to remember

Yet he delights as he maims and dismembers.

He asks again and still I deny

As the blade plunges deep I no longer cry.

Too hoarse to speak, my mouth still forms one word

He cuts my throat before it's heard.

I gurgle, bleed, and gasp

As again and again he asks.

Thirty years when I first fail

And promises kept, he grants my bail.

Ten years I'm behind the knife

Not caring who or why as I cause strife.

Scarring and maiming, tearing souls apart

Darkness consumes me, eats away at my heart.

A part of me blackens and withers away

My soul dying a little more each day.

I hack and I carve, a grand design

The picture forming in my mind.

I make no sounds, say no words

Just cut and slice, cries are all that's heard.

My pattern's carved, my prey broken

And as I look over my work I realize my heart's still spoken.

Over once white flesh, runs crimson rivers

And as I stare down, my soul shivers.

A word rent on breathing canvas in deepest red

I take a step back and hang my head.

Chaos reigns above me, white light streaming through the fire

I'm grabbed from behind, lifted higher and higher.

I wake and it's dark, small and tight

I yell for help, finally pushing into the light.

I get my bearings and begin to walk, sun burning hot in the sky

I see a newspaper, think that the date is a lie.

I find my family, fight to make them see

That after forty years, that I'm still me.

**A/N: This finishes off this weird little trip for me. I want to know what you all think since this is the last time I'm adding to this, and I'm 99% sure this is the last poem I'll ever write that I won't immediately salt and burn. If you're reading Tomb of the Broken: I'm finishing it and then walking away to work on something different for a while. Catch you all another time.**


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